“The average child has 1,300+ photos of themselves online before age 13.”

Why We Share (And Why It Got Messy)

     One of my favorite things about early Facebook was watching friends’ and relatives’ kids grow up from a distance. You can’t visit everyone. Social filled that gap. We posted everything—opinions, trips, memes (hysterical and not), tragedies, MLM pitches, and yes, our kids’ photos. Obnoxious politics too—present company included.

For a lot of parents here and around the world, sharing milestones became part of daily life. I used to think the data tracking behind it wasn’t a big deal. Then 13 years in digital marketing taught me exactly how the surveillance machine works. Those old lines—I’m not doing anything wrong, why should I care? What could they possibly do with it?—don’t survive contact with reality.

I joined Facebook to connect with family overseas and across the U.S. Weddings, newborns, first days of school—it was all there, and I loved it. But this conversation isn’t nostalgia; it’s about consent, safety, and digital dignity.

The Consent Problem

     We live in the “Age of Consent,” but most parents don’t ask kids before posting their pictures or stories. And even if a child says “yes,” can they understand what it means to have their image, milestones, and personal details online—forever?

Grown adults post dumb things and pay for it later. How would a child possibly anticipate what today’s “cute” post might mean in ten years? Today’s yes isn’t tomorrow’s comfort. Future embarrassment, bullying, or identity issues are very real outcomes.

Digital Permanence & Lack of Control

     Deleting photos, blocking accounts, and other “failsafes” feel reassuring—but they’re leaky. We don’t have a legal right to disappear in the U.S., and most places don’t either.

That bathtub photo you posted in 2014? It’s not just in Grandma’s feed. It could be scraped into a facial-recognition database, used to train an AI model, or sitting on a forgotten server owned by an ad-tech zombie company—five acquisitions later. The internet doesn’t forget; it hoards.

Every upload, like, and heart-eyed emoji can be stored, indexed, profiled, and sold. Not just by the platform, but by third-party trackers and scraping bots you’ll never see. You can delete a post; you can’t recall its copies.

Your child might walk into a job interview, a security-clearance check, or a first date in 2040 carrying a digital footprint built before they could spell their own name. That’s not “sharing memories.” That’s creating a permanent, unconsented archive of someone else’s life.

IV. Exploitation and “Sharenting”

No one means to exploit their kid. But “sharenting” is often the soft-launch of surveillance capitalism. It starts innocently: a milestone photo, a funny tantrum, a dance video for the relatives. Algorithms don’t run on sentiment; they run on engagement. Suddenly your kid’s face is racking up likes and dopamine hits. That cutesy content? It’s currency.

Some parents go further—sometimes unintentionally. Entire accounts revolve around the child. Memory-making morphs into monetization: ad deals, affiliate links, merch. This isn’t parenting; it’s production. Enter the kidfluencer—millions of followers before they lose their baby teeth, with few of the labor protections child actors get. No guaranteed income share. No clear boundaries between self and performance.

The deeper problem: turning childhood into content. We upload real joy, grief, boredom, confusion—for public consumption, without true consent or context—and we can’t predict how it will haunt them later. Kids deserve to grow up as people, not personal brands. They deserve memories, not metrics.

V. Safety and Privacy Risks (U.S.)

Faces become fuel. One “cute” photo can be scraped into facial-recognition systems, folded into AI training sets, or reused in disturbing ways—without consent. U.S. law mostly targets companies, not parents; and once models learn, deleting the post doesn’t untrain them. (Illinois’ biometric law is an exception, but it won’t rewind the internet.)

Backgrounds tell on you. School logos, bus numbers, house numbers, and local landmarks quietly reveal location. Frequent posts map routines—drop-off times, practices, weekly lessons.

Metadata snitches. Phones embed GPS (EXIF) in photos. Some platforms strip it; cloud shares and messaging apps often don’t.

AI supercharges misuse. Tools can fabricate sexualized deepfakes from ordinary photos, clone voices from short clips, and generate look-alikes that persist even after takedowns.

Stalking and doxxing are real. First names, birthdays, team schedules, and parent tags are enough to triangulate identity and location.

Collateral exposure. Advertisers and data brokers build “family graphs”—who lives together, what they buy, and likely schedules—turning childhood into a predictive profile.

Real-world example (U.S.). In 2023, New Jersey high-schoolers used basic AI apps to create sexualized deepfakes of classmates using Instagram photos—no hacking, just publicly shared images. Investigations followed, but the copies spread faster than any takedown.

VI. How Oversharing Teaches Surveillance as “Normal”

When kids grow up constantly displayed, boundaries start to feel weird instead of healthy. Overexposure trains them to perform, pose, repeat—while internalizing that privacy is optional. That invites self-censorship and anxiety later.

Privacy isn’t a luxury; it’s a right. Informational self-determination—choosing what to share, what to withhold, and with whom—is a basic liberty. Surveillance-driven business models inverted that right by turning people into the product. If reclaiming it breaks parts of Big Tech’s ad machinery, that’s the cost of fixing a failed system.

VII. Healthier Ways to Share (With Real Options)

Encrypted group chats (best for small family circles)

• Signal (recommended): E2EE by default, disappearing messages, view-once media, built-in face-blur, no ad tracking.
• Threema: E2EE, Swiss-based, no phone number required (paid), minimal metadata.
• iMessage (Apple-only): E2EE between Apple devices; enable Advanced Data Protection for iCloud and avoid SMS fallback.
• WhatsApp (use with care): E2EE for chats; turn on Encrypted Backups. Still lots of metadata—prefer Signal if possible.
• Avoid for private family sharing: Telegram default chats (not E2EE for groups), social DMs tied to ad networks.

Private photo albums (no public links)

• Ente Photos (recommended): True E2EE albums, family plans, cross-platform.
• Proton Drive (Photos): E2EE storage with password-protected, expiring album links.
• Cryptee Photos: Browser-based E2EE, no app install required.
• Self-hosted (advanced): Nextcloud with E2EE folders; invite-only galleries.

Anonymize the image, not the moment

• Prefer no-face angles and detail shots (trophies, cleats, cake).
• Strip EXIF/GPS (Signal does; otherwise use an EXIF remover).
• Blur/crop school logos, plates, street numbers. Use initials or nicknames.
• Post after events, not in real time.

Tell the story without the selfie

• Share a short note or audio, a tiny family newsletter (BCC), or password-protected albums.
• Print photo books for grandparents—offline, durable, unsnoopable.

Ask kids first—and honor “no”

• Three-green-lights rule: Kid says yes. You say yes. Privacy says yes. If any are red, don’t post.
• Posting pact: No humiliating, medical, disciplinary, bath/bedroom, or real-time location posts.
• Give kids veto power and show a preview before sharing.

5-minute setup (do this now)

1. Pick your lane: Signal for chat, Ente/Proton Drive for albums.
2. Enable disappearing messages and view-once for sensitive shares.
3. Disable camera geotagging on all phones; scrub EXIF.
4. Ban public links; use password + expiry when you must link.
5. Tell relatives the rules: faces off, details off, private album only.
   
   

This isn’t a parent-shaming piece. It’s a look behind the curtain at the shadow pipeline that turns family moments into inventory—marketers, data brokers, stalkers, even government programs. The point isn’t fear; it’s stewardship.

Protect your child’s future autonomy and dignity. Leave them room to choose what becomes public—if anything—when they’re ready. That’s not withholding love; it’s respecting who they’re becoming. Share the moment, not the map of their life.